


What a Night

by CustardBattle



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Political Alliances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24503053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CustardBattle/pseuds/CustardBattle
Summary: In which Jim is a dad and can't deal with this shit.
Relationships: Pavel Chekov/Hikaru Sulu
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

Jim had a headache, a hollow pain in the left side of his cranium, and every flicker of light, every noise, seemed to twist a screw just a little tighter into his brain, sending bright sparks of pain that ricocheted back and forth within his skull. He’d already taken more than his fair share of meds; anything heavier and he’d lose concentration, and taking more of what he had would threaten liver failure. So instead of doing what was reasonable, meaning putting himself to bed and being dead to the world for a good twelve hours, he toed the line and attempted to save both his sanity and his internal organs.

It was not going well so far.

Three days ago, after a grand total of six hours of sleep, he had developed a slight twitch in his left eye, that was only aggravated further by the pressure put on him by Starfleet to not fuck up. Very un-captainlike, in his opinion. Despite his desperate need for rest and heavy drinking, his next mission was assigned just as sanitation had finished cleaning blue and red blood off the walls. Two days ago, his constant wakefulness and attention had caused his back to start complaining, and sitting in the captain’s chair had just caused him to shift back and forth, trying to find a position that would give him just the smallest bit of relief.

Apparently the Elh, the humanoid species inhabiting planet EG-01, among others, were losing faith in the Federation, letting their eyes wander to other buyers of lithium crystals. “The Elh credit dropped a further 0.5% in just this cycle,” the president had droned through a translator, “we admit we are unsatisfied with this arrangement.”

And since his ship happened to land closest to their unhappy planet, it was his job to fix it. More specifically, it was his job to go to a banquet, lay on the charm, offer a compromise, and save their arrangement. 

“Besides,” a higher up had briefed him, “isn’t the great endearing James T Kirk just the captain for this mission?”

Jim could admit when he was cornered in, and offered an affirmative.

His headache wasn’t going away. He slammed a cold glass of water and leaned back in his chair. Elh customs and etiquette, history, and slang was laid out in carefully organized folders, courtesy of Uhura. His eyes blurred, and thankfully his office door beeped. He pressed a button, and the door hissed open.

Spock entered the room, and stood, postured perfectly.

“You summoned me, captain.”

He pushed the files to the side, ignoring Spock’s brief curious glance at the folders. 

“This banquet is imperative for the diplomatic stability between EG-01 and the Federation.”

“I have read the reports.”

“Good, so you know how much is at stake.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Spock wouldn’t ever say it, though Jim could see the slight eyebrow raise giving him away.

“You’re wondering why I asked you here.”

Spock did not respond.

“Spock, have a seat.” His commander sat, and he took a breath, leaning forward and folding his hands together. “I asked you here for a very specific reason. I want you to join McCoy and the others when they go out drinking for shore leave.”

If the situation weren’t so dire, and were his exhaustion less oppressive, the look of confusion, concern, and genuine fear that all travelled across Spock’s face for a moment would have been hilarious. He probably even would have laughed. He did not.

Spock managed not to stutter, “I admit I am… perplexed why you would ask this of me.”

“Yes, I understand. Spock, do you remember what happened the last time Chekov and Scotty went out on shore leave together?”

“I recall they started a skirmish with a group of Romulans.”

“Yes. And do you remember how Sulu acted once infected with that disease that scourged so quickly through our ship?”

“I recall he threatened crewmen shirtless with a sword.”

“Do you remember what happened when McCoy dosed himself with an accidental stimulant?”

“He went on a rampaged and caused a time shift that erased us from existence.”

Jim sighed.

“I have a bridge full of,” he paused, finding the right words, “unique personalities. In our line of work, that’s helpful. It’s certainly saved some lives, and gotten us out of more than one unusual situation. However, when unique personalities get together, especially under the influence of…”

“Mind altering substance?” Spock provided, and Kirk nodded.

“Yes. Mind altering substances, they can cause problems. We can show no weakness tonight, must make ourselves as attractive as possible. Every available man will be down on that planet creating business, spending credits, and nothing can be amiss. We need this planet to think they need us, and that means acting like perfect crewmen. We can’t let anything go wrong. One fight, arrest, or drunk and disorderly charge, and everything the Federation’s worked for will poof!” he made a little explosion with his hands, and to his slight horror, they held a slight tremor from his countless cups of coffee. “Be gone. We can’t have any slip ups.”

Spock gazed as him, his face in an impressive slackness, but with eyes that seemed to note Jim’s exhaustion. He didn’t let this distract him.

“You are asking me to keep Dr. McCoy and the others well behaved.”

“Yes.”

“I highly doubt my being there would have any influence.”

“Why Mr. Spock, you give yourself too little credit. I don’t believe there will be an incident, and if there is, then I feel you have the ability to stop the situation from getting out of hand. Either way, you’re not weaseling out of this one. I need everything to go perfectly, and someone with such Vulcan restraint would be a logical choice.”

Kirk knew Spock wouldn’t argue after that, and he forced his wobbly legs to push him up and out of the room. He gave his first officer a pat on the shoulder on his way out, and prayed to whatever might be out in the universe that he didn’t fall asleep at the dining table.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim looked up from whatever he’d been eating at Uhura sliding into the seat across from his, a pinched look in her features. Seeing her, he turned back to his meal. Oh. It was shepherd’s pie. Good to know.

“Captain, if I may speak freely,” she began, and Jim waved a hand. 

“Drop the formalities, please.”

“Kirk, you look awful.”

He pushed a lump of mashed potato around.

“I know. I was hoping you’d be able to help me with that.” He gestured at her perfectly done eyeliner, and she smiled a little at the compliment.

“I’ll see what I can do. But you’re going to have to do what I say.” She warned. Jim nodded, and she pointed to the door.

“Take a shower, and sleep until 16:45. Then be here at 16:50, and I’ll make you look better.”

He sighed.

“I blocked out this time to brief you-” and Uhura had the bravos to interrupt him.  _ Drop the formalities, indeed,  _ he thought.

“And I tell you as an officer of communications that I’m quite aware of our situation. I’m fluent in two Elh languages, and proficient enough to translate without problem. I can be professional, I can help you with the bags under your eyes, but there’s only so much I can do when you’re exhausted.”

Her sternness turned into something a little more sympathetic.

“Please, just come back at 16:50. I’ll go over the briefings again, just to be sure.”

There wasn’t much Jim could say to argue, and anything with the word ‘sleep’ in it sounded like a good option. He nodded, and stood. 

“Thank you, Nyota.”

“Of course, Captain. Have a good rest.”


	3. Chapter 3

McCoy was more than surprised when he saw Spock's name on the shore leave, and his surprise only grew when Spock arrived to the shore shuttle wearing not the crisp Starfleet uniform, but a casual pair of black slacks and a deep blue button up. He couldn’t help but stare the entire journey down. 

The bar they chose was casual, dark, and boisterous. Elh barkeeps ran back and forth, not used to so many orders. An Elh drink was only a quarter what a human would drink, so the steady flow of thirsty customers had the place booming. 

McCoy had just sat down with a tray of drinks. They’d gotten the first booth available, and couldn’t get the image of Spock in civies out of his head.

“Did anyone else see the half-breed signed up for shore leave?”

"You know, considering our time and age, it's strange that you're still using racial slurs against Spock." Sulu was beet red, alternating between two different kinds of fermented Elh potato.

McCoy huffed.

"It's a term of endearment! Like, Jimmy boy or kid," he gestured to Chekov, who winced.

"Please don't call me that."

"Yeah, except it's a term directly related to his heritage.” Sulu argued. “Isn't that racist? I mean, it'd be like calling me Helmsman Chink."

"Or calling me Cossak."

"Jim calls me Scotty." The Scotsman piped up. His motions were steady and relaxed, but his face was already a blooming red, giving away just how much scotch he had put away. Sulu rolled his eyes.

"Scott's also your name, so it doesn't count."

“Eh, you’re probably right.”

Sulu once again burst in shortly after slamming the remains of his drink

“Now can we talk about the real matter at hand: are the captain and Spock fucking?”

“Come on,” complained Scotty, dragging out his syllables as if that would stop the course of the conversation, “this is an old road. They’re buds, nothing more.”

“You only say that because you’re straight.”

“And have terrible gaydar,” Chekov pointed out.

“Excuse me? I do not.” Scotty actually looked hurt by this comment, and Chekov just snickered into Sulu’s shoulder, while McCoy tried not to smile too much into his drink. “I figured out you two were dating.”

“That’s only on account of that they have no concept of personal space,” McCoy drawled. This liquor went down smooth, but he was already lightheaded. He gave the two his well-practiced disapproving glare, “especially on the bridge.”

And Spock chose that moment to enter the room. The whole bar of patrons stopped for a moment, because seeing Spock in a space so unusual and unfit for a Vulcan meant only two things: He was on a mission to fix something gone horribly awry, maybe needing the rest of Jim’s crew to leap into action and save the day. That, or he wanted to drink with them.

And the second absolutely wasn’t the case, was it?

Spock walked over to the table, and gestured at an empty chair to the side.

“Gentlemen,” he started, “I would like to drink with you.”

Scotty inhaled his drink, sputtered, and spent a good minute and a half coughing. Just enough time for the vulcan to sit down and motion for a barkeep.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim was under. It was the kind of dead, heavy sleep that felt like sinking. No matter how much you tried to wake up, there was an unstoppable force pulling you back down. 

But even under, he could hear a high screeching noise. There was something he had to do, wasn’t there? He couldn’t remember. He struggled against the force pulling him down, and finally awoke to his alarm’s impatient shouting.

_ This alarm has been on for 5 minutes and 32 seconds _ , read the screen. He groaned and hit the off button. His bones creaked as he rolled out of bed, and he stumbled into the shower.

His headache had gotten better, but still pressed at the sides of his temples. After dressing in his freshly pressed formal captain’s uniform, he rang Nyota.

“I’ll be right over, captain. I’ll bring my kit and go over Elh etiquette as I fix you up.”

“What would I do without you?”

He knew she was smirking into the intercom, and he flipped through his files waiting for her.

They were straight to business the moment she walked in. He sat at his desk as she laid out her brushed, and went straight to swiping on pigmented goo, then smoothing it out with practised precision. She gelled his hair, dusted his eyes, and lined them in an uncomfortable procedure. Finally, she added colour to his cheeks and lips.

When finished, he looked in one of her mirrors, and hummed to herself.

“Perfectly done.” Aside from the faintest hint of eyeliner, he looked like his normal self, his tired eyes and puffy bags and pale skin completely smoothed over.

“Thank you,” she smiled. Snapping close a palette and gathering up her brushes, she stood, “now you’ll hopefully be able to win over some Elh hearts.”

He took another glance in the mirror and stood with her, walking over to the door.

“I certainly hope so,” he said, and they prepared for departure.

The shuttle down to the surface was tight and silent. Jim was already sweating, dabbing his forehead with the thin paper Nyota had given him. An Elh awaited them as the shuttle opened, and Jim forced himself not to stare as she towered over the both of them. 

“I greet thee,” said the Elh, giving a traditional curtsy. “I am Se, thine guide.”

Kirk and Nyota curtsied in kind, ignoring the way she dwarfed both of them. 

Nyota stood straight, and the translator in Kirk’s ear kicked in.

“Greetings. I am Nyota Uhura, officer of communications. I introduce my captain to thee: James Kirk of starfleet.”

The Elh looked surprised, then burst into a gigantic grin.

“A human who speaks our tongue! How peculiar. Thy presence willst impress our Queen! Come!” She motioned to another ship waiting in the dock, “We have prepared a feast for thine arrival.”

She stalked off, forcing the two to run to keep up. The ship opened, revealing a sleek interior. As they piled in, Kirk couldn’t help but notice Se’s brilliant emerald eyes looking him up and down. Ever the diplomat, he kept a straight face.

“Captain,” hummed Se, looking at Kirk with a cocked head, “Thou art a male of thine species?”

Kirk nodded. The Elh women were huge: thin and towering with slender necks and long bony arms. The men were significantly smaller, only up to shoulder height, in a darker blue than their feminine counterparts.

“I am a man,” explained Kirk. Nyota translated. “Human men and women tend to be the same size.”

Se nodded. “I understand. We will arrive soon.”

The sun never set on the Elh empire; literally. The planet’s odd rotation had the sun doing lazy circuits in the sky, trailing along the edge of the horizon. It created an eternal sunset, the gilded light pouring through the skyscrapers as the shuttle crossed the city.

They pulled up to a building that shone, lit up by hundreds of multicoloured lights. Arm in arm, led by Se, they walked the short path to the entrance. Kirk’s stomach twinged with worry. For a party, there were very few Elh around. His phaser hand twitched. 

Damn diplomacy.

The front door stood a good ten feet tall, polished metal gleaming under the sun. Se stopped at the front, and they all waited for a moment.

The door moved, swinging inwards, and the sounds of a roaring party assaulted them both. 

Each Elh, male and female, were dressed to the nines, glimmering fabric, statement colours, and long hanging jewelry, heavy with jewels.

The two of them entered, and the sounds of the party dimmed. 

Se walked into the middle of the room, gesturing for them to follow. All eyes on them. She raised her voice.

“I present to thee, the humans of Starfleet!”

The two of them smiled, and Kirk did his best curtsy, having practiced with Nyota just hours beforehand.

A silence still took hold of the crowd, and Jim felt a bead of sweat run down his neck under the hundreds of eyes. 

Se looked at them expectantly, and Jim panicked inside, not knowing what was expected of them.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he announced, giving time for Nyota to translate. “Your planet is beautiful, and from all of Starfleet, we thank you all for this grand ball.”

What else was he supposed to say? A tray with a covered dish was rolled in front of them, and he kept speaking.

“Starfleet and EG-01 have had a prosperous relationship, and we hope to continue our bond for years to come.”

Se uncovered the dish, and to his great shock, saw two items: a knife, and a single can of cheap blonde ale. Terran brand, definitely imported.

He looked up at Se, and she nodded with a tight smile.

“Please do the toast of Terra, for the crowd.”

“They want me to shotgun it?”

Se cocked her head to the side, “is that the name of the ritual?”

Jim briefly locked eyes with Nyota, and she looked similarly lost.

He raised the can, and saw an entire room full of Elh eyes on him, expectant.

“To EG-01,” he hollered, and cracked the can open, using the knife to drain the beer in seconds. The crowd erupted in deafening cheers, and he put the empty on the table, flattening it with a practiced hand.

“I never knew my training from undergrad would come in handy,” he said, fizzing liquid dripping onto the front of his shirt. Nyota rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide a smile.

“And now we implore thee to, as the Terrans do, ‘par-tee’.” she stumbled over the English word, but it just made the crowd louder, filling the grand space with applause. The cart wheeled itself away, and Elh the music resumed.


End file.
